Average
by hey-bring-me-some-pie
Summary: John is tired of being "average," as Sherlock calls it. He decides to act more spontaneous, wanting to get Sherlock's attention. Everything John does get's Sherlock's attention, as John isn't acting like he usually is. Sherlock is confused, and tries to figure out what's happening. But then, John turns out to be the confused one. Johnlock.


****  
"So, Watson, how did she die?" Sherlock asked me. I sighed.  
"Why are you asking? You already know the answer, so why bother?" I replied, studying the body of a female woman on the shore of the Thames. Her head was bloody, like she'd been beaten, but only her head was bloodied. Her neck had blue tinged bruises in the shape of fingertips, so it was obvious she'd been throttled. Judging by the protruding bones in the chest, she had multiple broken ribs.  
"I told you, an average mind gives me perspective. Plus it's just boring solving everything by myself." I huffed indignantly.  
"Must you always call me that?" I said, exasperated.

"What?" Sherlock was taken aback.  
"Average. You make it sound like you're some great genius mastermind and i'm some poor bloke you found on the streets."  
"Oh. Well, I did." Sherlock reminded me.  
"Just forget it. Her head is bashed and bloodied, so she could have been beaten, but she doesn't have any bruises besides her head, and her ribs are broken, so I'd suggest she fell-no, was pushed-off a building or something that would break some bones and crack the skull, but not so high that she'd form bruises on her body. Her neck was squeezed, so it looks like there was a fight, but the killer didn't have a knife or anything on him except his hands, so when she struggled, he momentarily tried to strangle her, before pushing her off." I said. Sherlock looked surprised.  
"Very good. But still, however, average." He said, with absolutely no regard to our previous conversation. He turned to the police.  
"This was hardly even a murder, contact me only when it's something good. Have you people honestly gotten so stupid you can't even solve a simple homicide?" He walked to the main street, muttering to himself about "Normal," and "No regard whatsoever." I sighed, apologized to the police, who waved me off, scowling, and followed Sherlock. We walked for quite a distance trying to wave over a taxi, before he rounded on me.  
"Do you always have to be so ordinary? You follow me around everywhere, like a lost puppy. Do something extraordinary for once! Honestly, I get bored watching you do nothing but watch me." He stalked away, hailing a cab. I didn't follow, for once. I turned in the other direction, and walked along the river for a while. I haven't been staring. That would be absurd. I mean, when he does that thing where he states every detail about you, I stare then. But everyone stares when he talks about them like he is them! He wants me to be extraordinary, does he? I'll give him extraordinary. I flagged a cab, a plan formulating in my mind. I'll do anything and everything for him to stop being such a pompous arse and to stop calling me average.

I walked into our flat, and saw Sherlock playing his violin. I thought it all out. If i'm average, and Sherlock is extraordinary, and he wants me to be extraordinary, then i'll just act like him, won't I?

"Finally, John, you're here. Took you long enough, didn't it? We've got another case, a rather exciting one, if I do say so myself. This one's about rabbits," he said gleefully. I remained stoic, and shook my head.  
"Nope, sorry. I've got a date." I opened the fridge, searching for something edible. Sherlock stopped playing, and turned to me.  
"Yes, you do. With me. This case is going to be dangerous!" he said smugly. Ha.  
"Still no. I have a life, Sherlock, and I've met someone. He's very nice." I said casually.  
"Well yes that's all spiffing and normal, but-" He cut himself off, looking at me.  
"He? I thought you didn't...go that way." I could feel his eyes on my head as I rummaged through the fridge.  
"Yes, well, things change. Now, if you'll excuse me, i've got to take a shower and get ready for my date." I left him standing there, no doubt with that look on his face, the one he gets when he's trying to figure something out. I laughed to myself. This is going to be fun.

I stepped out of my shower, wrapping a towel around a waist, and opened the door to find Sherlock. I shook my head and stepped around him.  
"I don't understand. You've never refused to go with me on a case before. Something's changed." He sniffed the air.  
"You're wearing cologne." He said, surprised. I opened my closet and tried to find an outfit that looks decent, but not too dressy.  
"Yes, Sherlock, I'm wearing cologne. I am going on a date, remember?" I pulled out a collared white shirt and a blue pullover sweater. I put those on, keeping the towel tied firmly around my hips.  
"Yes but you've went on other dates before, and you've never worn this cologne. I don't understand. There's something missing. What aren't you telling me?" He gazed into my eyes, searching.  
"Nothing, Sherlock! Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed. In private." I added. He snorted and turned around, then continued talking.  
"But there just seems to be something...I don't know...off." The microwave pinged.  
"Oh yes, the experiment. Back in a jiff." He ran down the stairs. I buttoned my jeans, and went down as well, grabbing my coat. I paused outside the front door, then went out, letting the door slam closed behind me.

I unlocked the door, coming into the living room. Sherlock sat in an armchair with his hands together in front of his face.  
"How'd the date go?" He asked without moving his hands.  
"It went fine. Great actually. We're going exclusive now." I muttered something under my breath.  
"Sorry, what was that last bit?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head slightly in my direction.  
"Nothing." I went upstairs and laid on my bed without changing my clothes. Wait for it...  
Sherlock squealed loudly from below. I heard his footsteps pound up the stairs. My door slammed open, and I glanced at him. He held a dead snake, stomach sliced open. I brightened.  
"Oh, you found it! I've been looking for that!" I took the snake from his and examined the stomach.  
"Nope, not useful anymore. I'll have to restart," I said to myself, but loudly enough that Sherlock could hear as well.  
"Why isn't it useful? Restart what?" He asked me. His face was a bit flushed.  
"Oh this?" I held up the snake. He nodded very fast.  
"Just an experiment. Now go away, I can't think with you here." I turned so my back was to him, stifling laughter. He huffed, and stomped down the stairs, skipping the last three and landing hard on the floor. I giggled. This was more fun than i thought it'd be.

I slept soundly, dreaming about various ways to confuse Sherlock even more. I woke up at around five am, trying to slip out of the house before Sherlock woke. I turned around and nearly had a heart attack. My face was inches away from Sherlock's. He stared at me.  
"What are you doing here?" I sat up, trying to slow my erratically beating heart. Sherlock continued to lay there, eyes following me as I moved.  
"Trying to figure out what you're hiding." He responded, studying me.  
"And you couldn't have asked me over breakfast?" I glared at him. My plans were ruined.  
"No, not really, because when someone hides something, they don't normally tell people when they ask." He sat up, sniffing me.  
"Find anything?" I asked sarcastically.  
"No, and that bothers me. You are seeing a man, I can smell his cologne, and you've kissed him too, so you are actually homosexual. Or bisexual, whichever label you prefer." I blushed, and replied,  
"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, bisexual, if you please. Anything else you want to mention?" Sherlock looked me up and down.  
"Then snake couldn't have been lost for very long, in fact I believe it wasn't lost at all. I'd say more like, planted there, on purpose. And you haven't started any experiment since, so you're not very keen about it, otherwise you'd have started it already." He paused.  
"Are you finished?" I asked, crossing my arms. He nodded.  
"For now." He replied. He swung out of my bed, and paused before he went out the door.  
"Though you know, you could tell me things. I mean, I'm not such a sociopath that I don't care about...things. Like...people?" He tried. I stood up, wrinkling my brow.  
"What do you mean, tell you things?" I asked.  
"You know...people things. Life things." He stayed just before the door, not facing me.  
"I still don't understand."  
"I mean," He turned, looking at me, "That you have nightmares. Frequently." I shifted my feet, glancing at the floor, then back at him.  
"So?"  
"So, I'm saying that you could, maybe, talk about them to me?" It sounded like a question.  
"If you wanted to." He added hurriedly. I stared. Sherlock flushed a bit and shook his head.  
"Nevermind. Forget I said anything." He headed out my bedroom door.  
"Wait, Sherlock." I walked towards him. "I just don't know what brought this on. Why are you offering?" I inquired. It felt...oddly endearing to hear Sherlock sounding so thoughtful. He stirred, thinking.  
"I'm...not sure. You're acting strange, and I didn't-I mean, I don't-want you to leave." He picked at a loose thread in his shirt.  
"And i'm not good with feelings and such, but you're my friend. My god, it sounds weird to say that." He grinned up at me a bit sheepishly. I smiled at him. This was kind of the result I was looking for. He was paying attention, real attention, not "lets go Watson we got a case" attention, but honest-to-god attention.  
"Listen, Sherlock, I-" Sherlock's phone rang. He felt his chest pocket and pulled it out, glancing at it. He looked at me.  
"No, no, it's fine. You can go and solve your case. I'll still be here when you're done." I waved him off. He shook his head.  
"Don't be silly! I'll deal with the case when i've got time. Right now, i'm busy. With my friend." He said the word funny, like it had barely been used. It probably hadn't.  
"Are you sure?" I asked him. "I can always wait."  
"No. I want to be here, John, with you, talking to you. Now talk." He smiled at me.  
"Well, I-" His phone rang again, and he got up and went to the bathroom.  
"Uh, Sherlock, what are you doing?" I peeked into the bathroom just in time to see him plunk his phone into the toilet. He looked at me.  
"Shouldn't interrupt us again." I laughed.  
"You know, you'll have to go out and get a new one." I said, still chuckling. He blinked at me.  
"Nonsense, I have yours." He winced. "That wasn't very touchy-feely, was it? Alright, talk before I dig myself a hole." I swallowed, my throat dry.  
"My nightmares are from when I was a soldier. In them, I'm always at the same scene. I'm with two men that i'd become friends with. They were good men, strong, with kind hearts. We were guarding a base. It's dark, and we can't hear anyone. I suggest we rest for a bit and play a card game. That's what we did in our free time, card games. Took our mind off the war. Anyways, we're halfway through a game of poker, when a shot rings through the air. It hits one of my friends, straight through his heart. Two more shots ring through the air, but by then we'd moved. Both shots missed. I shouted for us to run, but Tom-that was his name, Tom-had too big of a heart and tried to carry Nick's body with us to the base. I told him to run, but he refused, and told me to go instead. But I couldn't just leave him. So I helped him drag the body. Shots were ringing out, It was a miracle we didn't get shot. But then I saw a man, standing to my left, aiming a gun at me. He fired, and I twisted away and it hit my shoulder instead. It hurt so bad. So bad. I tried to carry Nick to the base, tried to ignore the pain, but it was too much. Tom carried us both back to base, but he had to make sure we got in first. He had just set us in the base, to safety, when they shot him. It was a perfect shot, right in his head. I watched him die, and I couldn't do anything about it." I broke off then, terror, shame, and sorrow aching inside me. A tear dropped onto my hands, and I realized I was crying. I looked up when I felt a hand cover mine. Sherlock walked towards me, hugging me tightly. It was a rare sign of affection that I usually didn't see him display. He whispered in my ear.  
"It's alright, It's over. It wasn't your fault. In every war there are casualties, you don't have to blame yourself, John. I'm-I'm here. Everything will be okay." I pulled away slightly, so that his arms were still around me, but I could see his face. He was so close to me, I could smell his minty breath. As I stared at Sherlock, his eyes flickered down to my lips. Abruptly, he stood up. I stood up with him, my hands behind his back. He looked confused and desperate and I wanted to help him, like he helped me.  
"Sherlock-" I started gently. He cut me off.  
"I'm fine, just peachy. I should-but if you ever-I mean-" He stuttered, trying to find the right words. Taking a breath, he started over.  
"I wanted to say that i'll be here if you ever need me. If you have a nightmare and you want to talk, or anything. But I should tell you that, um, that is..." He paused again.  
"I'll go make some tea!" He blurted, and rushed out of my room without another word. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I stared down at my hands. What was that? If I didn't know Sherlock better, i'd have assumed he wanted to tell me something, but was afraid to. But Sherlock isn't afraid of...of anything.

I waited for about twenty minutes for that tea, but it never came. Ha, I thought. I knew it. Sherlock is afraid, and he used tea as an excuse to leave the room. I don't think he plans on coming back. Standing up, I strode across the room, down the stairs and burst into Sherlock's room.  
Startled, Sherlocked jumped around, grabbing his gun and pointing it at my forehead.  
"Uh, I was going to inquire about that tea?" I squeaked.  
Sherlock sighed, dropping the gun on the bedside table. "Sorry, I thought someone had broken in, seeing as you've never charged in here before." His fingers played with the hem of his shirt. Nervous. I smiled at him.  
"Sherlock, it's alright to admit you're frightened of something." I said soothingly, sitting next to him on his bed. "What is it? What are you scared of?" I leaned closer, trying to gauge his expression.  
"You can trust me, Sherlock." I said earnestly. "Really, I can keep a secret and-" I stopped talking, eyes wide. "Sherlock-Sherlock, are you hard?" I stared at him, uncomprehending. He looked up at me, his expression a bit wild, and scrambled to his bathroom.  
The door slammed shut, making me jump. I headed to the bathroom, stopping outside the door, which was locked.  
"Sherlock, come on, open up. You aren't going to hide from this forever!" No response.  
"Oh seriously, Sherlock! I'm not going to leave until you open the door!" Still nothing. I waited a few seconds, hoping, then slid down the frame of the door. I grumbled to myself. "If he won't come out now, he'll have to come out later, and i'll be here when it happens."

I sat there most of the night, listening to Sherlock's breathing through the door. He hasn't...taken care of his...problem; i'd have heard him. Finally, near 3:30 AM, I stood up, exasperated. Knocking on the bathroom door, I spoke to him.  
"Would you please come out?" I begged him. No answer.  
"Sherlock." I said quietly. "Sherlock you need to come out." All was quiet on the other side of the door. I sighed. "Sherlock, please. We need to talk. I'm not going to run away and I'm not mad or something. Judging by the way I stayed here all night, I think you can deduce as such." I paused, waiting. Hoping.

After a few seconds pause, the door swung open, revealing one Sherlock Holmes, still, as I knew, half-hard. I scrambled up, suddenly blushing. Stop that, I scolded myself. You are not a giggly little schoolgirl. I gazed at Sherlock, my hands in my pockets, and found myself wanting to run my hands through his curly mess of hair. My hand reached for him, but instead I patted his shoulder.  
"It's alright, Sherlock. All men get, uhm, horny sometimes. Maybe we could go to a bar and you could meet someone? Get into a relationship, perhaps?" I tried to soothe his worries, but it didn't seem to be helping. In fact, I think I made it worse. Sherlock's face was pink, and his eyes had a look in them. A look that says he's seen many things, been through rough times. A sad look.

He slid away from my arm, resting on one of his shoulders, and walked out the door. He didn't say anything, not a word. I frowned, unhappy. What did I say wrong? Maybe I read it the wrong way. Maybe Sherlock was once addicted to alcohol too? No, that doesn't seem like him...although neither did the drugs, so I guess you never know.

I'm just going to ask him what's wrong, instead of making assumptions. I mean, I should just come out and ask him straight up, right? Guessing never did anyone any good. I'll be honest and tell him i've been worried, and it'll make me feel better once I know what is bothering him. I stood up, renewed by my revelations. Scurrying out of the room, I searched the flat for Sherlock, but didn't find him. Where'd he have gone? I looked everywhere for a clue, something that would tell me where he'd gone.

Nothing. I fidgeted, restless. Should I wait here for him to come back? He'll come back, all of his things are here in the flat. And I have no idea where he went; yes, it seems much more practical to stay and wait for him.

An hour passed. Two. It started to drizzle. Three hours. It was really pouring now. Five. Six. Was that thunder I heard? Seven hours. I got up and paced, back and forth, back and forth. I sat back down. More rain. Lightning.

Almost eight hours had past before I heard the door slam open, wind gusting in. Sherlock Holmes stood there. He was soaked and desperate-looking. I sprang up, rushing over.  
"Jeez Sherlock, were you outside in the rain the whole time? You'll get pneumonia!" I started to usher him to his room, but he wouldn't budge.  
"Sherlock?" He glanced at me, his eyes piercing. They were full of so much emotion, so much feeling, that I couldn't understand how Anderson and Donovan could call him a sociopath. I felt like he had opened up his entire being, telling me all his secrets. I stood in front of him, looking him in the eyes.  
"Are you going to tell me what you're so upset about?" I asked him softly. He looked away, breaking eye contact.  
"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled. He stepped around me, into his room. I followed.  
"Like hell you don't! We are going to talk about this!" I said to his back. He shed his coat and scarf, facing away from me.  
"Sherlock, I know something's making you unhappy, and I didn't do a great job comforting you, either. But we need to talk about whatever it is that making you feel so sad and such. I don't like it when you're down, and I guess I just hope I can help you out." I gazed at him hopefully, wanting a response, any response. But nothing. He didn't move. It was like I wasn't even there. Didn't he see I wanted to help? I wanted to get him into warm clothes, and set him on the couch with a fuzzy blanket and a nice, warm cup of tea. We'd watch some show on the telly, and I'd cuddle up with him, maybe hold hands.

Hold hands? Cuddle? What was I thinking? I pictured it in my mind, me and Sherlock, walking along a beach, hand in hand. It didn't seem right. Mentally I added in a crime scene, some kind of vicious murder. There. I could see it now, having a relationship with him. Everyone else seemed to think we were in one. Maybe we were missing something? I looked back at Sherlock, who still hasn't moved. Has he thought about it? No, he said he was 'married to his work,' remember?

I shook my head, trying to rid my thoughts of us. Focus on the matter at hand, John, I told myself. I walked up to Sherlock and tapped him on the shoulder. He really was quite tall, and with his shirt drenched and plastered to his skin, I could see the muscles in his back.  
"Sherlock!" I yelled at him. He didn't even flinch. I moved around him, so I could face him.  
"Tell me what's wrong. Tell me so I can fix it, or help, or anything!" Nothing seemed to get even a reaction. I stood closer to him, and I had to crane my neck to look him in the eyes.  
"You helped me Sherlock, you were there when I needed you. I know you need someone, and I know i'm not much, but I'm here, right now, and I'm determined to help you." I said, searching his face. He swallowed, loud and hard.  
"I'm confused, John. And yes...I'm a bit scared." He hesitated. I tried to show him how much I cared with my eyes.  
"What-What if you...thought something, and you wanted to tell your friend, only you thought your friend would be...understanding, but distant? That they would change how they act around you, and think of you?" He locked eyes with me.  
"Are you talking about me, the friend?" I said slowly, trying to figure out the puzzle. When he didn't answer, I asked him another question.  
"What could be so bad that I would change how I think about you? Tell me, Sherlock, please. It's in my power to help, and I want to, desperately. To help, I mean." I searched his eyes for answers. He looked away, eyes cast down.

Suddenly, I was furious. Sherlock was hurting, and it was all my fault. I held out my hand. He glanced at it, surprised. On impulse, I grabbed his, instead of waiting for him to grab mine. His head shot up to stare at me. I pulled him towards the bed, and we sat side by side, thighs touching. I knew I should let go of his hand, but I couldn't bring myself to. Rubbing my thumb in little circles on his skin, I asked him again what was bothering him.  
"You wouldn't want to know." He replied. I snorted.  
"And i've been slowly withering away, trying to figure out this little secret of yours, because I don't want to know?" I chuckled a bit. Sherlock gave a small smile. God, that smile. It seems like it's been so long since I've seen it, although in reality, it was about a day, maybe two.  
Silence fell, but it was a comfortable kind of silence. A moment later, I broke it.  
"Are...are you okay?" I asked him tentatively. I wanted to ask him about his 'secret' too, but I didn't want to be pushy. He raised his head to stare at the wall and sighed.  
"I will be, once I tell you. And then I'll be okay, better than okay, or i'll be utterly destroyed." He stated it like a fact. I was determined to make it the former.  
"Tell me Sherlock, I promise I won't let the latter happen, I swear I won't." I tried to make him understand how much I wanted him to be happy. I think he might have gotten the message, because he sighed, and began to talk.  
"It's - Well, it's rather a long story to fully explain, so i'll just, um, say it outright." I nodded. "I seem to have a sort of - affection for you. In that kind of way." He stuttered slightly. His head tipped forward, and I couldn't meet his eyes.

I was shocked. Sherlock, Sherlock, of all people, liked me. In a romantic sort of way. I grinned. It was only this that was bothering him? Why would it bother him if I...liked him back? I gulped.

As soon as I thought it, I knew it was true. I leaned forward, my free hand gripping Sherlock's upper arm. My head tilted as I tried to find his face.  
"Sherlock?" I said timidly. "Can you look at me?" After a brief pause, he slowly raised his head and looked me full in the face.

Kiss him.

The bold voice in my head commanded me. I hesitated, and decided why the hell not? I leaned ever closer, giving Sherlock time to back away. He didn't. He stayed stock still, eyes never leaving mine.  
When we were an inch apart, I stopped. Sherlock's breath was warm on my face, and I inched closer until my lips touched his. A brief peck.

I started to move back. He hadn't responded. Maybe he was just messing with me? As some sort of twisted experiment? I moved to get off the bed, but an hand enclosed on my elbow, pulling me back.  
Sherlock's eyes flickered to my lips, then my eyes, and back to my lips. I wanted to kiss him, a real proper kiss, but I was scared he wouldn't respond, like before.

But I didn't have to wait, or worry, because Sherlock pressed his lips to mine, our mouths parting. We kissed sweetly, tongue meeting tongue hesitantly. I licked his bottom lip, hearing him gasp, and smiled.

I pulled apart from our entangled upper bodies.  
"I really don't think you have to worry about any of that rubbish about me leaving you."


End file.
